At Kinloch, the short skirmishes had been confusing. Blood mages had taken hold of the tower by surprise and then demons ran rampant through the halls, cutting down both mages and Templars alike. By the time anyone could tell what had transpired, the tower was taken. A few stood against them and fell, but unable to rally the full might of his command, Knight-Commander Greagoir had pulled the Templars he could out and sealed the door behind him with everyone locked inside left to their fate. Viktoriea had thought him cowardly back then, leaving everyone to die in the tower instead of fighting to the last man, but as she watched the group of four Templars lead the push through the entrance hall, she wondered if Greagoir hadn't been simply cowardly all those years ago. His Templars had been scared out of their wits, his Templars had been taken by surprise; Knight-Commander Avod's Templars were fully prepared, and they were merciless. Avod rallied them, calling upon the loyal men still fighting in the room ahead and Viktoriea was shocked to watch them break away from their personal battles and comply. They formed a tight shield wall of more than half a dozen and pressed forward, the three mages in tow casting barrier upon barrier over them all.

The battle became a blur to her. More mages had arrived within minutes, whether to assist the bloodshed or to escape, Viktoriea never knew. Avod's knights fought off the crazed Templars who could have been their friends, bashing with their shields and slicing with their swords without hesitation. Viktoriea felt the unpleasant churn of lyrium induced magic, and watched white mist like a rolling wave wash before their line. Mages halted mid-cast, finding themselves suddenly useless and fled before their might. What Viktoriea had thought was a far-fetched plan, was suddenly coming to complete fruition.

They reached the entrance and turned as a unit, shielding the mages and the apprentices as they all pressed against the great doors. Normally, it took four Templars to open, but necessity stirred the children into motion. They all grunted pitifully against the heavy iron doors. Viktoriea pushed with all her might, though tired from her casting. They grated shrilly against the stones, just beginning to budge.

And then she heard a screech that chilled her to her bones. A sound that she could have gone an eternity never hearing again—

"Abomination!" bellowed Avod. "Smites!"

Viktoriea looked over her shoulder at the hulking, twisted creature that may have been one of her friends minutes ago. She felt the fear shoot through her, freezing her in place. It was happening again!

"Push, everyone!" shouted Petra.

The Abomination roared in its gravelly voice and charged forward, swinging low with its arms. The Smites the knights could muster didn't slow it down in the slightest. It broke their line easily, casting the men aside as though they were nothing more than paper dolls. Two recovered immediately. The pair met the creature with their raised shields but the Abomination was a powerful monster. Its hands came alive with mage fire and it reared up to burn the men that dared to stand between it and its freedom.

Viktoriea couldn't tell if it was adrenaline or if it was the fact that Nevin was in the direct line of its fire, but she threw herself from the door, her body coming alive with sparks. The lightning danced in cool arcs around her as she charged the beast, screaming as best as she could past her fear-tightened throat. It wheeled on her, raising its mangled arms. Baring her teeth with the effort, she threw her arms forward, her magic following tightly. The creature seized as she threw her arcs with deadly precision, dancing over the mutilated flesh, carving cauterized holes through the twisted mage.

The Templars, regaining their feet, attacked the stunned monster from behind, taking care to avoid the lighting themselves. They slashed at its legs and as it went down screaming, they plunged their swords deep into the Abomination's flesh.

Viktoriea slumped, dropping her arms, her heart pounding violently in her chest. Her shaking hand pushed the hair from her sweaty brow. That had been too close. If the mages here turned to blood magic… then the castle was lost no matter what they did. She had already seen one Circle fall that way, and she doubted there were any Wardens here to save them this time.

"Knight-Commander—"

"I'm fine," he snapped at his men. "Get that door open!"

"Viktoriea!"

Nevin raced forward and Viktoriea sagged into his outstretched arms, shaking from the effort. He murmured soft words to her but when she looked up to answer, her mind was wiped blank by his close proximity, noses nearly touching. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Trevelyan!" called Avod, stealing her attention away from Nevin's near kiss. "The way forward is clear. I trust you know what to do from here." He limped towards them, his hand pressed tightly into his side. Viktoriea could just see the slow seep of crimson through his mail.

"You're hurt, Knight-Commander!" she gasped. "Here, let Carlie help you—"

He waved her away. "There's no time. Take the apprentices and go. I must stay with my Templars and see that nothing—be it mage or, Maker help us, abomination—gets through this door." Avod's piercing gaze turned on Nevin, his eyes flickering to the steel-clad arms that were still around her waist. She blushed brightly. "I see now why you were so adamant, Knight-Templar Nevin," Avod said carefully with a slow nod of his head. "Trevelyan is a fine fighter." He turned away from them abruptly to survey the carnage. He glanced over his remaining faithful Templars as they spread out to check for more wounded, before adding, "She could still use a Templar escort through the mountains, I think. See that she gets where she's going. That's an order."

Nevin glanced down at Viktoriea, the shock on his face mirroring what she felt. She expected a reprimand, she expected an order for him to stay behind fighting until his death. This had to be a dream, or a nightmare. It couldn't possibly be anything else to Viktoriea. But her hand grasped in Nevin's, tugging her towards the door—that was real wasn't it?

As they ushered all the children out through the doors, Viktoriea cast one last, perplexed glance over her shoulder at the handful of wounded Templars who were supposed to hold the line.

Blessed are those that stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter.

Avod nodded to her. Maker watch over you. She saw the words on his lips but did not hear them.

Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.

Nevin chuckled darkly at her, bringing her back to the stinging cold of the Temple. His head tilted to the side as he regarded her. ""Chaos" puts it lightly. Yet you still managed to save so many innocent lives…Or do you still think that's an act of a murderer?"

"I didn't!" Viktoriea shot back, shaking her head. "We both know that I was not the hero you make me out to be that day. Why did you help me? Why did the Knight-Commander help me?" Frustrated tears spilled over her cheeks. These men, they made no sense to her! "What did you have to gain?" She looked up at him with wondering, almost accusing eyes. Her life had taken too many turns too fast for her to think properly. Her alignment in the War was an issue that should have been easy. Her blood should have made it black and white, and yet her life had muddled the decision into utter confusion.

"Gain, Viktoriea?" Nevin barked, pushing off the wall towards her. "Templars don't work for gain. Or do you know nothing of us? We swear an oath to protect the world, lass. We swear an oath to protect mages. To stop demons. That is our purpose. It's a purpose that so many of the Order have lost sight of. They wander, aimlessly, searching for a reason to be. But the Knight-Commander? Me? …I found my purpose. And you know this."

"Are you sure we'll be safe here?" Viktoriea asked Nevin quietly, reaching his lookout position in the mouth of the cave. She glanced back into the gloom where Carlona and the older children picked through the emergency packs that First Enchanter Petra had given them. Viktoriea had been surprised that the castle's fall had been anticipated so thoroughly by Petra and Avod when she herself had believed they could remained untouched. Foolish of her, she admonished now. If she had been half as prepared as the two of them… Viktoriea closed her eyes and tried not to imagine her mentor and her protector falling in a swarm of malificar.

"Of course not, but it's the best we'll manage." He nodded at the mages distributing blankets and rations. "They've been through too much, and we will not be able to make them go any farther. They're terrified and exhausted, just like we are. Worse, maybe, the wee things." He ran his fingers through his hair as he looked over Viktoriea. She watched him plaintively, torn between thanking him profusely and throwing her arms around him, if only for the comfort. "We don't have enough, you know," he said quietly. "For all of us. Split the rations amongst yourselves, okay? Don't worry about me."

"How selfless of you," she muttered.

He fixed her with a wry smile. "Your adoration for me is duly noted, Viktoriea, but it's not out of selflessness. I won't be here."

An unwelcome spike of panic shot through her. "What? Why? Where are you going?"

Nevin motioned for her to keep her voice down and Viktoriea glanced guiltily back at the children. She knew the three of them were the ones in charge, the ones the children looked to, and panicking would only hurt the traumatized apprentices. He motioned with his head to the mouth of the cave.

She followed him, ready to hound him again as soon as they were clear but he began talking immediately. "It will take more days than we have rations for to get to the city. As a group we are slow going. I will go on ahead, alone, and come back to meet you with enough supplies to see us there."

Viktoriea sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes. She couldn't tell why her stomach churned so sickeningly, or why she really wanted to beg him to stay. Maybe she was just paranoid after their assault through the castle. Maybe she didn't think she could protect all the apprentices on her own should rogue Templars or mages discover them. Maybe she wasn't convinced that Nevin would come back. She was so conflicted with her terror, her unease, her guilt, her exhaustion, that she was lulled into silence, unable to voice any concerns or murmur any comforts. And somehow, that made it feel worse.

"I'll be quick," Nevin said quietly, reaching for her. When he pulled her gently into his arms, she made no move to stop him. "Alone, I'll be faster over the pass. You know this."

She didn't look at him. She didn't nod. She didn't move. Viktoriea just stared unblinkingly at the stamped black insignia in front of her, the flaming sword across his chest plate.

"Viktoriea…" The steel gauntlets touched her chin gingerly, the cold sharp against her blazing skin, and raised her face to his. Their lips brushed softly, searching and timid at first. Until Viktoriea's hand snaked up to his cheek to press him into a deeper kiss. He broke their touch with a ragged sigh and smiled tentatively. "You have no idea how long I've wanted that…"

She laughed breathlessly with him, at the sheer absurdity of it. Their world falling apart around them and they worried about kisses.

"I will come back. And I…hope you will be waiting for me, when I do."

"Better hurry before another strapping young man comes along and beats you to it," she joked weakly. Nevin just shook his head and squeezed her waist.

"You jest, but with every other crazy thing that's happening, I wouldn't exactly be surprised." His expression turned serious and he pressed another small, lingering kiss upon her lips. "I know what I have to do. Take care, Viktoriea. Stay safe."

"Give them a purpose, Viktoriea. Like you gave me," Nevin said firmly, slicing through her reverie.

"A purpose….like yours?" she laughed bitterly. She couldn't bear to look upon Nevin's troubled face any longer. Instead, she spat her tear-choked response at the glittering floor. "Like following me to their deaths?"

Viktoriea heard Nevin's strangled sigh and squeezed her eyes shut. A thick sob roiled in her throat and she choked on it, letting her guilt-ridden tears fall against her hand.

"You're dead, aren't you…?"

Nevin didn't need to answer. His silence could have screamed the truth. The unease she felt since she stumbled upon him had told her it was true all along.

"Y-you're a spirit! No. Wh-what are you?!" Viktoriea hardly dared to believe it. She never wanted to believe it. She backed away from his apparition, shaking her head. That was it then, she sobbed. Her worst fear was confirmed. Everything good that the Maker had given her…she had spoiled.

Nevin watched her wretchedly, his arm outstretched for her but she turned away from his hand, hugging herself as she cried. "The Veil is thin here," he said in a wavering voice, "or so I'm told. I guess…I guess someone thought you could use the comfort of a friendly face…"

Her knees buckled and collapsed beneath her. She fell forward into the snow and sobbed. She relished in the icy chill of the slush soaking through her clothes. It reminded her of her reality. Her ugly and mage-wrought reality. She had never wanted to believe it. She had always hoped that Nevin had made it away from the Conclave before it exploded. She had begged with the Maker during her sleepless nights to spare him. Prayed that she was not truly the only one to escape… Never. Never before had her prayers been answered. The prayers of a mage fell on deaf ears, and instead of help her, the Maker saw her punished with more and more suffering. He gifted her a fractured glimpse of what she could have had, a fleeting feeling of happiness and then ripped it from her grasp. He looked down on her with a shaking finger and boomed, This is the bane of a mage, Blight-tainted purveyor of demons! He did it to her time and time again, each instance twisting her in her own grief forever. Was this what a mage's life was supposed to be? Was she cursed even by her Maker for being born with power? Always to suffer, and never to know peace? Would she have to bear this burden, the burden of Andraste, for the rest of her miserable life?

"I-I tried to reach you, Viktoriea…"

She shook her head violently, howling with her rendered heart into the snow. "Don't!" she cried wretchedly. Don't. Don't tell her of how valiantly Nevin fought and died. Don't tell her how he charged through the lines of demons to try to find her. Don't tell her how he screamed her name in the chaos, choked on it, as he was ran through by a demon's claws. Don't tell her how his last thought was of her and the life they could have had, as he slumped to the floor in a pool of his own thickening blood.

"I was so scared for you—"

"STOP, DEMON!"

Viktoriea fixed the specter of Ser Nevin with a tearful glare, her face crumpling with another wail of misery. The shock and hurt was too much for her. Too much. Too much all at once. If she could, she would plunge her hand into her chest to rip her heart away; just stop the agony! If he were real, she would beg Nevin to run her through with his holy sword. Smite this wretched mage. She let her head fall again, utterly defeated.

"I am no demon, Viktoriea! You needed me and I came, just as I promised I always would!" The specter fell to its knees beside her and reached for her shaking body.

"I don't believe in ghosts!" she choked. "That man whose shape you have stolen is no longer with me. Release him!" Viktoriea shoved his hand away from her face, her mouth twisting in disgust.

"No?" Nevin's voice broke harshly. "No? I am always with you, Viktoriea! I made a promise to you!" He battled her weak attempts to stop him, and cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look up at him. He was desperate, agonized, his tears flowing just as freely as hers over his cheeks. "Or did you think you fell that great bear all on your own?" he whispered with a shaky laugh.

She looked up at him, wanting desperately to believe his words but knowing—as it had been drilled in every mage-child—that she should never believe a specter of the Fade.

"It is me, as it has always been me." He searched her face, for what, Viktoriea didn't know. There was nothing that she could possibly give him. Everything she had, had been sundered from her. "I've been waiting for you to come, Viktoriea. I've been holding on…just-just to say goodbye." His lip quivered and he looked away from her, his own sob breaking from his throat.

"I can't say goodbye," Viktoriea moaned piteously, "not to you… I owe you so much and all I-I-I gave you in return was…" She broke, closed her eyes, as her guilt punched a ragged, gaping hole in her chest.

He gently shook her face in his hands, coaxing her to look at him again. "To have held your hand for an instant was enough for me, lass," he swore vehemently. "I saw you to the Conclave. I saw the end to my life's purpose beside you. Any Templar should be honored by your guidance. You are wiser than you know, and an honest leader, with a humanity—a spark for life—that can't be put out. You can be stubborn as all hell, but you always do what is unshakably right. You are the head the Order needs! You are Andraste's Herald, and we are Her knights. Lead us to a brighter dawn where they can realize their true calling, as we did in Ostwick!" He pressed his forehead to hers and she gasped at the warmth that radiated through her. Her hand reached up and grasped at his face, if only to keep him there, if only she could reverse his fate if she clung to him hard enough. "Show us a future where a Templar and a mage are united!" Nevin crashed his lips against hers and Viktoriea moaned as the hole tore deeper through her heart. "One where they can love."

Viktoriea shook her head against him. She was too weak. She could never be half the mage, a piece of the leader Nevin wanted for her to be. She would disappoint all of them, lead them all astray. How could she unite a force that despised her? How could she lead when she had no notion of where she was headed? What dawn could come when all before her was pressing darkness? When her life was in shambles, and her heart was cleaved in two, there could be no hope. Not for her, and not for any that followed her.

All that faced her was total destruction.

And she was so abhorrently sorry.

"Nevin, I can't. I can't!" She shook. "I'm not what you believe I am!"

"You are everything I believe you are, Viktoriea! Find it! You know what you have to do, you were there when we worked together, and we can do so again. You can't give up on us, lass. You've seen us for what we are. Now give us direction, and together we can shape the future out of the chaos."

"I-I can't do it… Not alone."

"You're not alone, lass. Raise your eyes. The answer is all around you."

Viktoriea felt his words stir inside her. She felt their truth clear in the shattered recesses of her heart and though she knew what to do, she couldn't make herself stop sobbing. Her arms trembled beneath her weight, the ice winked and glittered at her, urging her, the frosty air stung across her wet cheeks and she was alive. She felt her future grasp her with an iron fingers and she was not alone, Andraste has guided her. Time and time again, She has guided her. Viktoriea's hands clenched into fists in the snow, and she is strong. She is determined.

When she finally looks up, Nevin is gone and Viktoriea has made her decision.

The small company of horses trudges forward over the rugged terrain, saying little.

Varric complains, but when doesn't he? Viktoriea ignores all her companions for the most part, resolute in her path. She knows the steps, and she urges her horse to take them with certainty.

"Not that I don't love riding horses all over Thedas," Varric pipes up as he adjusts himself in his saddle for the umpteenth time. "But I don't think this is the way to Redcliffe, Tingles."

Cassandra answers before Viktoriea could. "No. It's not."

They reach the crest of a small hill and Viktoriea pulls on her reins to survey the mighty, towering walls of the fortress Therinfal Redoubt in the distance. They all look on in silence, Varric and Bull's jaws drop and they wait for an explanation. Viktoriea cannot give them one. All she knows is that she is in the right place. She feels her heart pounding in her chest, nervous but right. She knows deep down that this is where she was always meant to come. She had seen firsthand the goodness of a Templar who knew their purpose, and all the misguided that resided in that fortress now deserved the chance to be saved as surely as the men at Ostwick. She had made the mistake of giving the rebel mages the benefit of her doubt, and how many had she lost for it? She would not cast the hopeless aside any longer. A mage always had their power. They always had a chance. A Templar was helpless in obeying orders, whether they were wrong or not. She had been given insight in both sides of their coin: coercive warriors and pitiful cowards. A mage would step in and grant them the power their sworn oaths were supposed to uphold.

This was her path, and she is certain of it now.

Somewhere in the distance, she swears that she hears a glorious sound that soars in her heart: Knight-Templar Nevin's clear, unbridled, and joyous laugh.